


Here By Me

by mizmahlia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmahlia/pseuds/mizmahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of 'what if' questions involving the life and death of Damian Wayne, but the one answered here is this: what if his last thought before he died was of Stephanie Brown? Warning: character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here By Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was a response to a prompt by a friend of mine that I originally posted on my Tumblr page, followed by FF.net. If you have any feedback about the way I write Damian, I would really appreciate you sharing it with me! Thanks and enjoy!

Now that he was alone, Damian studied his surroundings and his gaze came to rest on the Heretic's sword, which lay on the ground several feet from him. He knew he didn't have much time left and if he hadn't already known the wound was a fatal one, the amount of blood on the floor beneath him would have confirmed it. By his calculations he had about three minutes before he bled out, give or take.

To his credit the Heretic hit his heart and only his heart. But the large amount of fluid in his chest cavity made it difficult to breathe. Sitting up would make it easier, but the relief would short-lived so he remained flat on his back and tried to focus on something else. As long as he was still, he wasn't in a great deal of pain. The most troubling part was the warm sensation of blood running down the inside of his tunic between his skin and the armor, and it pooled beneath him.

As he continued to bleed, Damian could feel all of the anger and rage he'd allowed to fester leave him as well. The Heretic. Mother. Anyone and everyone who had ever done him wrong- he let all of it go. He felt nothing for them any longer and he knew there was nothing he could do about any of it anyway, so holding onto it now was pointless. He was beyond furious about the fact he would never be able give them the kind of justice they deserved, but on that same token he was at peace with the idea that eventually Father and Dick would handle it. _And if they didn't_ , he mused, _Jason certainly will._ He almost wished Jason would take it upon himself to avenge his death, as Jason would do more along the lines of what Damian would have done himself.

The sound of bodies crashing through drywall carried up the stairs and Damian rolled his head to the right and closed his eyes, turning away from the doorway and blocking out the commotion he could hear a few floors down. He didn't need to hear how close Bat... Father was. He didn't _want_ to. Despite the fact he was losing consciousness, he was keenly aware of how close to death he was. There was no need to listen to the fighting going on down there, no logic in giving himself a false sense of hope that he would be found and saved. People didn't live to talk about injuries like his. And as hard as it was to admit, it was an honorable way to go, dying in combat. He wondered if Mother would be proud, had she seen what the monstrosity she created had done to him and how valiantly he fought to do what was right, in spite of her wishes for him.

A violent cough erupted from his throat and he choked, rolling over slightly to clear his throat until he could breathe again. He didn't fail to see the irony in that, either. He'd accepted his death was fast-approaching, yet his body wasn't ready to let go and fought to stay alive. As the seconds continued to tick by his arms and legs went numb with cold and the only sounds he could hear now were those of his erratic heartbeat and the rattle in his throat as he gasped for breath. The time between each heartbeat grew longer and longer, his pulse weakening after every beat.

When he hit the floor after he'd been stabbed and he realized how serious the situation really was, he grew calm and with an almost clinical detachment, he took his own vitals and surveyed the severe blood loss. He came to the conclusion almost immediately the wound was fatal and his odds of getting the proper medical attention were next to nil, at best. While a part of him was a bit scared and incredibly disappointed, he was quickly resigned to his fate and didn't panic. But as it stood now, losing his grip on consciousness while lying in a pool of his own blood, something had changed. He could feel himself fighting the urge to let go instead of waiting for the end to come. Something in the back of his mind was trying to convince him to hold on, to be stubborn and continue to breathe until Father reached him. There was only one person who was as stubborn as he was and she was nowhere near Gotham right now.

 _Don't you_ _**dare** _ _die on me, you little brat._

Her voice echoed in his head, crystal clear and obnoxious, and he gasped weakly. He opened his eyes and was barely able to turn his head back toward the door. He knew it was merely a hallucination, but he took comfort in that he was no longer alone and she was standing there, arms crossed over her chest, leaning her shoulder against the door frame with a soft smile on her face.

_Hold on, D. Bruce is almost here._

Damian was too weak to do much of anything, let alone speak. _Don't be an idiot. We both see the damage that's been done here._ He glanced at the sword again and felt a faint chill run down his spine. _I don't have a lot of time left._

She pushed off the door frame and approached, crouching down next to him and running a hand through his sweaty, blood-streaked hair. She wasn't in uniform, but in jeans and a tee shirt, her thick blonde hair tucked behind her ear. _If you say so, kiddo._

He wasn't able to track her movements with his eyes, but he could feel her sit down behind his head and gently lift him, placing his head and shoulders in her lap. Her hands moved to cover the wound on his chest, her arms circling his shoulders protectively.   
  
_Then I'll wait with you._

 _It won't be much longer_.

_I know, D. I know. I'm so sorry._

He willed his arm to move and when it wouldn't, he grunted in frustration. She understood what he was trying to do and reached for his hand, holding it between hers over his chest. The fear he'd been fighting to suppress made itself known and he feebly squeezed her hands for reassurance that he wasn't alone as he closed his eyes, his heart beating one final time. He leaned his face into her arm, his eyes fluttering closed and a lone tear slipping from his lashes.

 _Brown_.


End file.
